In the Blink of an Eye

by Julie Miller

  “But you’re dripping.” With the flick of a finger, she wiped away a trickle of water from the tip of his pectoral muscle.

  Mac’s breath hissed through his teeth at the unintended caress.

  And then Julia’s body went completely still.

  He could feel the pull and slack of the towel beneath his hands as she breathed in and out, but nothing more.

  And that was when he knew she understood exactly what he wanted.

  “Mac—”

  He knew a brief moment of doubt himself. Were the scars on his body too much for her to bear? Too numerous for her to touch?

  “I don’t know what to do.” Her hushed admission was the only reassurance he needed.

  “Then let me.”

  He fanned out his fingers and turned his hands so they could reach down and cup her bottom. Her squeezed her gently, loving her womanly dimensions. She set the razor and washcloth down behind him and braced her hands lightly on his shoulders as he pulled her a step closer. And closer still.

  He leaned forward and nuzzled his nose in the towel that carried her scent and held her warmth. But it wasn’t enough.

  Giving her a moment to rescind her permission, Mac untucked the ends of her towel and let it fall to the floor. He moved his face close, but didn’t yet touch. He felt the heat of her on his skin; he let the musky, clean scent of a beautiful woman fill his nose and give new fuel to the growing hum of power inside him.

  And then he pressed a kiss to her belly. Her muscles clenched, drawing her away from him. He gave her a chance to breathe, a chance to get used to his touch on her bare skin, and then he kissed her again. And again.

  He trailed kisses from the soft curve of her belly to the harder strength of her sternum. And then his nose was nestled between the twin globes that bespoke her femininity so uniquely, that touted her fertility so completely.

  Thousands of electrons were zapping each cell of his body every moment that he held her this close, that he touched her this intimately. But still he held back. He wanted Julia to know the beauty of every part of her body the same way he did.

  He slipped one hand behind her bottom, so she couldn’t bolt. So the same trapped energy building inside of him built inside her, too.

  He palmed his right hand over her breast and felt her fingers dig into his shoulders. “You like that?” He squeezed her gently and felt her flinch.

  “Yes.”

  He cradled the generous weight inside his palm. He stroked the nipple with his thumb, rolled it to a nubby bead between his fingers.

  Her buttocks squeezed together beneath his hand. Her breath caught on a ragged gasp and her breast pushed into his hand, seeking more, seeking him.

  He pressed his lips the swelling curve, let his tongue moisten a trail toward the straining tip.

  “Mac, please.”

  She skimmed her fingers up his neck, traced around the shell of his ear. And then she clasped his head firmly between her hands and guided his mouth to her engorged nipple.

  Her relieved gasp was short-lived. Her shy demands bombarded his will with the need to take her, to claim her, to make her his in every sense of the word.

  He stroked her with his tongue, heard her cry out in that soft, husky voice. He shifted his attentions to the other breast, laving its tip with his tongue, suckling the energy from her tinderlike body with his hot, wet mouth.

  Her fingers clenched into fists, fanned out, clutched at him. Her breathing quickened, stuttered, matched pace with his own ragged gasps for air. She twisted in his grasp and Mac knew the only thing keeping her standing was the support of his hand.

  “Jules.”

  This time he cried her name on a hoarse whisper, needing her closer, needing her touch, needing her.

  He pulled her down into his lap, just as he had wanted to those few nights ago. He spread her legs so that she straddled him. He lifted her by her bottom and pulled her close, so close that his denim brushed against her, so close he could feel her most intense heat next to his.

  His body throbbed in response. “Touch me,” he begged. “I need to feel you touch me.”

  And she did.

  She hugged her arms around his shoulders as he claimed her mouth. Her breasts branded his chest like tiny electric jolts, feeding the power that coiled ever more tightly inside him. She slid those magic hands down his back. She dipped her fingers in the waistband of his jeans. She smoothed them along his flanks and created sparks when her thumbs found his flat male nipples and tormented them beneath her touch.

  Their tongues linked, parted, tasted, and reconnected to create a heady circuit of sensation that shot with painful precision down to that most male part of him.

  “Jules.” He pushed her up, back to her feet, but caught her lips time and again beneath his to reassure her, to tell her this was wisdom, not rejection. He stood in front of her, gripped her shoulders, slid his hands down her back, and rubbed himself against her with almost shameful need. He rested his forehead against hers, breathed in as she breathed out to steady them both. “I can’t see to carry you. But I want you in bed. I want you now.”

  “I know.”

  Knew what? What did she know? Did she want him, too? That’s what she should have said if she really believed in their desire.

  But before he could form the rational words to challenge her, she slid her fingers down his arms and took his hands. He followed mindlessly, willingly, as she backed out toward the bedroom.

  When she broke the contact between them to pull back the covers, Mac stripped off his jeans and shorts, and stood before her, as potent and vulnerable as a man could make himself.

  Those moments apart gave him the time he needed to think. To ask. “It’s obvious I want you, isn’t it? That it’s you I want?”

  He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. If she thought this was all about latent hormones, and that he was this aroused, this needy, just because she was available to him, he’d stop. It might kill him to prove his point, but he’d stop.

  Julia huddled in the center of the bed, her muscles turned to liquid by the power of Mac’s loving hands and mouth. Mac stood beside her, naked and tall and glorious in his aroused state.

  “I know.”

  “Say it.” His quiet demand vibrated through the very heart of her.

  She knew what he was asking. She knew what he needed to hear. A feeling of unique feminine power settled over her like a calming caress. Maybe she did believe.

  “It’s me you want.”

  She rose up on her knees and reached for him then, pulling him down beside her on the bed.

  “I do want you, Julia Dalton.” He whispered the husky vow as he gathered her in his arms and rekindled the flame inside her with his burning touch.

  She rose to the needy stamp of his mouth, tried to touch him in every electric, intimate way he was touching her. She cried out his name and clutched at his shoulders when the palm of his hand found that primed core between her legs. Then his long, wondrous fingers pressed their way inside her swollen feminine heat.

  “Mac. Mac—”

  When his touch was almost too much, when she could feel herself buckling, squeezing, almost flying apart, Mac rose above her. Just like in her dreams. He entered her in one swift, perfect stroke.

  “It’s you I want, Jules. Only you.”

  His crushing mouth swallowed her reply. His hips rocked. A jillion megawatts of voltage tore her apart as he made her his.

  She had never belonged to anyone else like this.

  She never would.

  When the world returned to her and she knew herself again, Julia led Mac into the shower where they washed each other’s hair and cleansed their bodies and the scarred scientist made her his all over again.

  Afterward, feeling more exhausted, more replete, and more frightened for her future than she had ever been in her entire life, she and Mac fell asleep together.

  They cuddled as close in the king-size bed as they had on that short, skinny cot th
e night before.

  “CAN YOU HEAR ME?”

  Julia spoke into the tiny microphone that was pinned beneath the collar of her teal-green turtleneck.

  Mac answered in that calm, raspy tone that was becoming as much a comfort to her as holding his hand. “Talk in your regular voice. No need to shout.” He was somewhere down the hall, hidden safely out of sight in the custodian’s closet, while she forged ahead down the deserted marble hallway into the wing of offices that housed the assistant district attorneys.

  She heard a moment of static, then Mac spoke again. “How about you, Josh?”

  Josh sat in his truck, somewhere outside, keeping an eye out for anyone entering or leaving the county court building. Mac’s sister-in-law, Ginny Taylor, was out there, too, along with his cousin Mitch, captain of the Fourth Precinct.

  Located in the heart of downtown Kansas City, the historic limestone structure might have a small-town-sized replica of a domed and columned courthouse built atop a thirty-story tower, but the building and its annexes still took up most of a city block. Two intrepid detectives scouting out the D.A.’s case files on the eighth floor had a lot of ground to cover if they wanted to watch their backs.

  “Loud and clear. Sunday afternoon’s pretty quiet down here. You shouldn’t have any trouble.”

  “Be sure to watch out for the cleaning crew.” Mitch’s clipped voice came across the transmitter in her ear. She jumped at the gruff sound of authority. “Are you sure you don’t want us in there with you?”

  Mac laughed, reminding Julia that Mitch’s bark was a lot worse than his bite. “You’re not running the show today. This way, if something happens, you guys can drive away.”

  If something happens.

  Julia leaned her back against the solid walnut door bearing the name Dwight Powers, and shuddered.

  Josh had given her a crash course in how to use the lock-picking tools that she gripped tightly in her fist. Her job was simple. Break into Dwight Powers’s office, access his computer, and print out any data relating to cases that had been dismissed due to tainted or missing evidence from the Fourth Precinct CSI unit. Mac’s unit.

  She exhaled a deep breath that echoed and turned into steam in the cold, cavernous hallway. The ongoing conversation in her ear provided a small, but distant, realm of normalcy for her to cling to. She knelt in front of the door, wiped her sweaty palm on her pantleg and set about picking her first lock.

  “May I remind you,” Mitch went on, “that I’m responsible for my precinct. If I’ve got a cover-up in my department, I want to know about it. I will not drive away.”

  “But if there is a cover-up,” Mac argued in his coolly unemotional way, “then you could be implicated in it if Internal Affairs finds out you’re helping us. That goes for you and Ginny, too, Josh.”

  “I know the risks.” Ginny’s voice was rich and commanding for a woman, a unique contrast to her small stature and delicate Nordic looks. She herself was a surprising contrast to her husband, Brett. Mac’s older brother was as dark as Ginny was fair, as big and brawny as she was petite. Yet when she’d met her in person that morning, Julia had been impressed by how well she held her own with the other Taylors. And how much she loved her husband. “You went out of your way to help me find my sister’s killer last spring. Don’t think I’m not going to pay you back.”

  “Focus, people,” Mac reminded everyone.

  Something clicked in the lock and the door sprang open in front of Julia. “I’m in.”

  “Good girl.”

  That small bit of success was enough to refuel her energy and put her fears aside. The buzz of communication in her ear fell silent, and she knew everyone was listening to her now.

  “How do I know which desk is his?” she asked, looking at the double row of cubicles through the dusky light of tall, narrow windows.

  Mac answered. “Those are his assistants in the front room. His office is in the back.”

  She put the stainless-steel tools she’d used inside the pocket of her denim jacket and crept through the office. The place was eerie in its silence. Each desk she passed looked as if its owner had been whisked away in the midst of some project. A cold, half-drunk mug of coffee sat on the blotter of one desk; a stack of letters with a pen to sign them lay on another. She tiptoed on past as if the place was inhabited by ghosts who would wake at any minute if she made the slightest of sounds.

  Another walnut door loomed ahead of her. “I see it,” she whispered.

  “Everything all right?”

  “It’s just creepy.” She knew if he got worried about her, he’d leave his hiding place and come after her. “I’m fine.”

  She could envision Mac hurrying down the hallway, trailing his fingers along the cold, unforgiving marble. He might take a wrong turn and get lost before she could find him. Or worse, he might run into someone who recognized him. Someone who’d call the police. Someone who could take him away from her.

  The old bronze knob rotated a quarter turn, then stopped. “This is locked, too.”

  “Easy, Jules,” Mac coaxed her. “You can do it.”

  Breaking through the second door proved easier than the first. “What other bad habits can I learn from you, Josh?”

  But, surprisingly, Mac’s affable little brother didn’t laugh. “You just be careful.”

  “Now you tell me.”

  Julia closed and locked the door behind her. She debated whether or not to turn on the overhead light, since the morning sun barely penetrated the row of high windows running along the west wall of the assistant D.A.’s office. Instead, she opted to turn on the green-shaded desk lamp.

  Unlike the desks in the first room, Dwight Powers’s things were arranged in meticulous order. No doubt the attorney knew exactly where each pencil and paper clip sat, and if she moved anything even a millimeter out of place, he’d know an intruder had broken into his office.

  Keeping that in mind, she noted the angle and distance of his black leather chair from his desk before pulling it out and sitting in front of his computer. She turned it on and jumped as the loud tone clanged in her ears and bounced off the cold walls.

  “Jules?” Mac again.

  “I just got startled.”

  Her heart might be racing in her chest, but knowing Mac was there for her allowed her to think clearly. He’d been there for her last night, too. Not just physically—Anthony Cardello’s version of making love seemed a pale comparison to the raw, overwhelming need Mac had revealed in her—but emotionally, as well. He’d given her a precious gift.

  A different perception of herself.

  She’d seen herself through his eyes.

  And she wasn’t half bad.

  Mild praise, she knew. But she had fifteen years of a negative self-image to overcome. She needed time.

  “Jules? Is the computer up and running yet?”

  But time seemed to be in short supply.

  “Yes. It’s asking for his password.”

  “Vendetta.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Trust me. It fits him.”

  She should never have doubted Mac’s intellectual capabilities. She typed in the word, and moments later the screen gave her access to Dwight Powers’s files.

  She had fallen into the habit of explaining her actions out loud over the past few days, so that Mac could follow her and navigate his own way around the world. So it was easy enough to chat out loud as she searched through the files. Mac’s sure, steady voice guided her through glitches, narrowed her search, and finally took her to the screen she wanted.

  Josh’s voice intruded over the line. “You’re at fifteen minutes, Jules. You’d better wrap it up.”

  “I’m…just now there.” Her rapid pulse gave her voice a stutter.

  “Calm down.” That was Mac. She breathed in deeply through her nose and tried to picture his hand reaching out to hers, sharing his calm, resolute strength.

  Julia scrolled through the document before her, looking
for the key words Mac had suggested.

  Ginny reported in. “I’ve got three members of the cleaning crew out the back door. They’re lighting up cigarettes. It looks like break time.”

  “According to the manifest, there’s a crew of thirty,” Mitch reminded them.

  Julia gave a shaky laugh. “Thirty seemed kind of intimidating. But I can handle twenty-seven.”

  “The file?” Once again, Mac brought her back to the task at hand.

  “Bingo.” She read through the list of names a second time, wondering if her eyes had deceived her. They hadn’t. “Oh my God. Oh my God, Mac, you’re right. Let me check the next file.”

  She clicked on the print icon and looked at the next case on the screen. “It’s on this one, too.”

  Success gave her a heady rush of adrenaline that propelled her quickly from one command to the next. She printed and searched and printed again. A horrible pattern started to repeat itself. “It’s in every file, Mac.”

  “Twenty minutes, Jules.” Josh had appointed himself timekeeper.

  “Time to close up shop, sweetheart.”

  “I’ve got one more name to run through.”

  “We’ve got enough. Let’s go.”

  But she had already typed the name in the next file. She clicked on Search and waited for the computer to scroll through the information.

  “Jules.” Mac’s sharp gasp never registered. She was scanning the names for herself. “There’s someone in the hallway.”

  “Yes.” Julia pumped her fists and hit print for the last time. “We have everything we need. We have our proof!”

  “It won’t stand up in a court of law.” Mac’s ruined voice was barely audible at that low pitch. “It’s just the bait we need. Now get out of there!”

  “I’m going, I’m going.”

  The printer wasn’t.

  “I think the printer’s jammed.”

  Mac’s colorful curse was echoed by Mitch and Josh. “Just turn it off. Get out of there. Go.”

  Julia punched the power button on the printer and tore the paper from the output tray. She rolled it up and stuffed it inside her jacket, but it unrolled itself and fanned out like an accordion onto the floor.